


Hunger

by agentofcarter (izzimb)



Series: winterwidow izzi vs winterwidow saheli [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Also saheli has this amazing habit of reminding me how much i love writing, But lbr buckynat vs finals, F/M, I should have been studying for finals, James "Bucky" Barnes - Freeform, Natasha Romanova - Freeform, buckynat - Freeform, i forgot how to tag oops, i wrote this at like 3 AM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzimb/pseuds/agentofcarter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger was a sensation he'd trained himself to ignore. And yet it bothered him more right now than he could remember it doing for those years; with Natasha curled into his chest he wondered how he could ever be quite so cruel as to wake her just to get some cereal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> haaaaa it's been so long this probably sucks  
> xx  
> Leave comments please, authors live on those :) kudos/suggestions/requests/feedback too pleeeeaassee

Hunger was a sensation he'd trained himself to ignore. That dull ache, ever-present somewhere in his abdomen; he fought it off for several decades.

And yet it bothered him more right now than he could remember it doing for those years; with Natasha curled into his chest he wondered how he could ever be quite so cruel as to wake her just to get some cereal. Slow breaths raised and lowered her shoulders. She stirred slightly and hair fell from her now-mussed braid across her face. James was torn—his only free hand was his metal one, and touching its titanium to her face would more than likely awake her. Still, she looked so peaceful. She snored lightly.

 _Natashenka_ , he mused mentally, _how I love you_.

James shifted microscopically, lifting and rotating his hip outward oh-so-slightly. She didn't move. His left leg was still clamped between her thighs; he had little leeway for error. Her head rolled forward, chin tucking to her chest, hair smushing into James' mouth. He chuckled before stopping himself. He couldn't wake her, not now, not like this. Still, his body itched to move. A little here, a little there, it begged, but he resisted.

He transferred his attention to the outside world. Through the floor-to-ceiling window light would usually stream, but they, for once, remembered to yank the blinds closed. James listened intently: next door someone was frying an egg; down the street someone was wrapping up shawarma; across the street someone dropped a folder; the apartment below them was playing smooth jazz. Then his stomach growled.

He sighed deeply. He still refused to wake her. He ignored the upset stomach and continued listening to the world outside theirs. Natasha snored again. She stirred here and hummed in her sleep once there but showed no signs of waking.

A block over, a child cried for ice cream; on the next, someone missed a call. James reminded himself to ring Sam later on to tell him he wanted to eat breakfast. He did, at least, but his world was balanced so delicately in his arms—and the use of his left leg was still between her thighs. She sighed, shifting again, this time her legs tightened around his. He flinched slightly; she killed a man just last week with these thighs; last night they were wrapped around his head, but that's another story.

James tucked his chin to kiss her forehead. Some eyeliner had smudged across her temple, leaving a dark streak. Her hair, a vague orange in the dim light of their room, still smelled of her shampoo. He became aware of his arm falling asleep under her neck. Her pulse thumped against his bicep. She sighed again.

He sighed, hoping she'd wake soon. Her slow breaths nearly lulled him back to sleep, but the rumbling threatened to start again. _Moya lyubov, please wake up._ He yawned.

"Goddamn, Barnes, will you ever let me wake on my own?"

Shit. "Good morning, _solnishko_." "Don't you sunshine me." A laugh wavered in her throat.

"Good morning," he said again, pulling her with an arm around her waist onto him.

He pressed his undoubtedly rough beard into her neck to kiss her here, and here, and there. She laughed, actually laughed, and sighed blissfully when he let her back down. She kept her leg over his.

"What woke you?"

"Someone downstairs is playing smooth jazz," he said. "Also, I'm hungry."

"Kiss me first, then we'll get coffee and muffins from that bakery you like."

"Oh, I love you," he murmured, kissing her soft, sleepy lips. "Ty moy, ty moy."

"Yeah, yeah. You're mine, too." She laughed—twice already, today would be a good day—and kissed him back.


End file.
